sick of the superficial
flagged by the official
the game handed to bench warmers
young and battered
splattered by their sweat
and the mess they made of the field
running on overtime
sneaking behind the lines
breaking all conformity
living in reality
just being me
is the hardest thing to do
but nothing can stop new recruits
fire in their boots
and hearts
a love for the lost art
my poetic muse